Crossing genres and a definition of a dirty word

There's been much talk of pop styled musical groups lately. There's a contingent in the classical world that calls for classical groups to meet audiences half-way, and that the best way to do so is to embrace popular music in classical concerts.

There are others that claim that such attempts are nothing but pandering to commercial interests. That this type of programming accepts a viewpoint that classical music institutions and smaller groups should be tied, first and foremost, to commercial interests.

Of course, the truth of the matter is that there is no one answer to this dilemma. Performing popular music, be it transcriptions, arrangements, or original tunes in popular styles is not a new idea; nor is it likely to be the savior of classical music that certain pundits assume. It is also not outright pandering, nor specifically bowing to commercial interests.

A series of problems lie at the heart of this (continuous) disagreement. First is a philosophical issue--what is the purpose of the institution or group? Is the chief purpose of the group entertainment, educational, promotion of the arts, or some other idea? The answer for performing organizations, or course, is the promotion of the arts.

Which comes to another question: what arts are being promoted, and how best to promote them? For a symphonic group, the general mission is to play concerts at a high caliber. What is on the concerts is a matter of discussion.

In deciding programming, there are many issues to weigh, including past seasons, areas of expertise of the performers involved, a general aesthetic mission, and what best serves the public (which is decided, in part, by feedback from the public). Every group has its own character, from symphonies that focus on Classical and Romantic area rep, to new music ensembles focusing only on the most recent compositions from a few different styles, to a gospel choir performing modern and traditional spirituals, hymns, and anthems.

Many of these groups are tied to specific geographic regions. The New York Philharmonic serves, first and foremost, New York City. newEar new music ensemble serves Kansas City, MO. The Indianapolis Children's Chorus serves Indianapolis, IN, and San Francisco Opera serves San Francisco, CA. Groups when they reach a certain size and have accumulated enough cultural capital can begin exerting influence in wider and wider circles.

For groups focusing on performance, this means that they can add more concerts to the schedule, tour, record CDs (and publish themselves, or work with a record label), create spin-off groups (say, a section forming a small chamber ensemble under the banner of the large ensemble. This is fairly common in large symphonies) or expand into other areas of need, such as focusing on educational outreach. For educationally focused groups (such as youth symphonies or choruses), this could mean creating more groups, bringing in more teachers to help run sectionals, expand into after school programs, or expand performance opportunities through recordings and tours.

But first and foremost, the main mission of the group should be the focus: in this case, I will limit it to just groups focusing on the promotion of the arts through musical performance.

Discussions have arisen on what is the product of a group. It seems odd to ask this for a performing group, however in the pop world, the paradigm has been shifting. In the age before recorded media, the live performance was the product. In the age just prior to the rise of recorded media, the beginning of the radio age, the live performance was still a main factor. There were radio and television symphonies in place all over the world, from the BBC Orchestra to the NBC Orchestra (under the baton of Arturo Toscanini). For pop groups, the recorded media quickly became the main product--it is easier and more cost effective to produce a large amount of recordings and sell them for personal use than to undertake a tour. Radio proliferated the songs, home audiences rushed out to buy records, and the rise of the record company and popular music in the 20th century begins to take firm hold.

Of course the most early adopters of the technology were arts groups. One of the earliest recordings on an Edison Phonograph that has been preserved to this day is Johannes Brahms playing Brahms. Radio and TV Orchestras gave regular concerts over the air, and opera singers, such as Enrico Caruso, were recorded and pushed out as the must have items of the time. It was a time that held culture in high esteem for being culture. The goal for Grammophone was, of course, commercial at heart, but there was also a moral belief that the highest quality and caliber of music should be represented. This early 20th century period was marked by the writings of philosophers and critics dating back to the 19th century--in particular Schopenhauer who praised music as being the highest art form (but not all music), Eduard Hanslick and his formalist push (backing Brahms and attacking Wagner and other artists that sought to connect music to outside forces), and Theodore Adorno (who's critical theory is still approached today, and again touts the superiority of high art over all other art forms, even specifically attacking "Jazz," though at this time it is thought that the term is synonymous with all popular music, swing being the most popular at the time of his writings). The Romantic ideals of music pushed into music theory as well, where a certain German nationalist named Heinrich Schenker put forth a musical theory of linear (contrapuntal) analysis that, as a theory, works well for some specific style periods. Along with the useful theoretical end, Schenker attached large amounts of philosophy pushing nationalistic ideals, most importantly the superiority of German musical writing.

Nationalism in general was a major movement in the Romantic era. Countries throughout Europe were rebelling against what was seen as cultural imperialism in music--German music being placed on the highest place, and all other music being inferior to it. This manifested itself in many countries, notably Sweden (an early adopter due to the efforts of Gustav III, a ruler who was not known for his strength, so he made up for it with wanton flourishes of power. The bonus was the creation of the state opera, state symphony, and various other arts enterprises in Sweden), England (whose identity became more coalesced in the 20th century with Elgar and Ralph Vaughan Williams), Scotland (who was seeking not only their individual identity apart from Germany, but also apart from England), France (who was often at odds with Germany, and now focused on the creation of original forms, such as the French Grand Opera), and many more. However, culture in America was tied heavily to who immigrated to America. Recently founded in comparison to these movements, America had to struggle with national identity on a more base level, and cultural capital was not the highest priority. This may be linked to groups such as the Puritans who did not believe in the use of music for recreation, only for services, or Calvinists, who had similar views, but were a bit more lenient on the recreational use of music, but a bit more strict on what music could be performed in church (monophony only--meaning everyone singing the melody together. Instruments were also frowned upon). And, of course as time has gone on, there have been more forms of music in America, from the minstrelsy shows of the 19th century (where many of the American folk songs, such as "O Susannah" originate--for a look at the times, check out the later verses. There's a lot of stereotypical imagery which showed the lack of understanding of the culture). This leads to the rise of Burlesque, the creation of American theater (with musicals owing much to signspiel traditions of Germany, and the light comic operas of the English, especially Gilbert and Sullivan).

Why cover these trends? Because they are important to understanding how performing groups came to be in the United States. Symphonies were often led by European conductors, and filled with European musicians. American musicians traveled to Europe to study, with notable exceptions (such as Charles Ives, who had a fiercely nationalistic view, and was a misogynist, which explains why he discusses Europeans in derogatory effeminate terms--this is not to detract from his music, to put in slight perspective why he took the path he did. Other nationalistic composers also created national trends based on misguided personal ideals. It doesn't injure their music, but it's important to keep a perspective on why these trends started. Reactionary, and political...but that was a past post. Let's at least be honest about where the trends begin).

There has also been a huge amount of cross pollination between musical styles from time immemorial. From Machaut and Dufay writing popular songs and including them in their masses; to madrigals inhabiting a space somewhere between folk music and liturgical anthems; on to the use of folk music in the nationalistic works of Sweden, Scotland, and England; Barok and Kodaly recording folk songs, and using the material (directly and indirectly in their music); to the rise of film music with Korngold and Bernard Herrmann's memorable scores; jazz composers and orchestras recreating pieces in a new light, or fusing traditions into new pieces (Duke Ellington is a master of this with a great example being his Nutcracker Suite); dance bands develop into funk, go go, and disco, all which originally included acoustic instruments as well as the rising electric guitar, electric bass, and synthesizers; and we would be remiss to include the great Herbie Hancock's work in fusion, reaching out to artists of all walks starting in the 70s: all of this to illustrate a single point--the idea of fusing genres, even in the orchestral world, is not new. How many rock/orchestral concerts can be pointed out in the last 40 years? I personally own Metallica's S&M , which dates from 1999...And yet, somehow that collaboration concert didn't lead to more amazing things with the San Francisco Orchestra. Metallica fans did not rush out and buy the great SFO recordings. Or what about Portishead's concert and recording "Live at Roseland" with members of the NY Phil? Did this collaboration bring more people to the NY Phil?

I made the claim earlier that there is no correct answer to the issues that face orchestras. I do, however, have a strong opinion of what can help a great many of them--a return to their original purpose of serving a local community. Orchestras exist for their live performances, not their recordings, live streams, or televised appearances. Media is a way of reaching a wider crowd, but is that crowd who is really being "served" by the organization? If I buy a CD of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, it is a one off deal. I may purchase another, if I happen to like their recording of a certain piece. I did buy their recording of Ives' 4th Symphony. Did that one time sale bring me to the concert?

No, because I live nowhere near Chicago. At the time, I lived in Kansas City.

Did buying that recording get me to go to the Kansas City Symphony?

No, because that recording is not the KCS.

Connecting with a local audience comes down to knowing your local audience. This doesn't mean following national metrics, or even sending out a questionnaire to your season ticket holders. This means talking to people--talking to people after concerts, during intermission, and outside the concerts during community events. It means talking to people who aren't your largest donors, but people who would gladly go to a few concerts, when time and funds permit...and if the programming is interesting.

It means connecting with local musicians. Many orchestras do a good job going to local colleges and playing concerts. Some offer side-by-sides. Orchestral musicians often teach at local universities (I had the fortune to take lessons with a principal player). And yet there's still a divide. Composers, both young and old feel left out of the equation. Performers know only one or two members of the orchestra, but don't resonate nor understand the group as a whole. And the public faces, the musical directors, often hold themselves aloof from the community--and those that make themselves known are beloved (take Bernstein, Osma Vaska, Michael Tilson Thomas, just to name a few).

But pandering is not the way. Ah, there it is, the dirty word that pundits on one side scream "Listening to your audience is not pandering!" while the other side retaliates "Playing anything but the greatest works is pandering!"

There's a simple definition to "what is pandering?" The basic definition is to gratify or indulge an immoral desire or taste. With a symphony then, what is pandering?

Creating a concert season that abandons your mission.

If your mission is to "promote the arts through orchestral concerts to the local populace," then the question becomes "Is playing a bunch of pop arrangements to draw in a wider crowd pandering?" The deeper questions are "Does pop music need promotion?" and "Is the purpose of the orchestra to sell tickets?" Another way to phrase it is "Are orchestras solely for entertainment?" And this leads to the question "Are masterpieces, Romantic and Classical era pieces, and large symphonic works entertaining?"

And this reaches a final question of taste, which is something that all too often pundits on both sides seem to ignore. Not everyone likes classical music. Not everyone who likes classical music likes Classical era music. Someone may love Schubert but hate Bruckner. They may love Penderecki but despise Brahms. They may love Nickelback, Pentatonix, and Lindsay Stirling, but hate Shostacovich.

Does this mean that the answer to the question becomes "The metric says the most people like Lindsay Stirling. We can sell out concerts if we bring her in."?

Does this mean that this serves the community?

Or is it entertainment, a way to sell tickets, a necessary evil, or a brand new way of expressing ourselves that should replace the old?

For me, this is where the arts stand. They don't stand at a point of answer, they stand at a point of questions. To answer the questions, each group must discuss them, openly; board, management, and players. Groups must be willing to experiment within what they feel is the purpose of their group. And be ready to say "no, this is not what we stand for as an organization."

So, let's open the dialogue--here and all over. What is the purpose of a non-profit performing group? What are the necessary "evils" (or giving of concerts outside what the group would consider the mission)? How broad is the mission? Are all music forms to "equal" in representation? Do some groups need more or less representation? And how do we connect with a local audience without giving up our moral standing (as it relates to the mission of the group)?

Thoughts, ideas, comments?

Refocusing the discussion on Sustainability.

This is the third post in a little series looking at some hot button topics in music these days. The first was an introduction. The second was an attempt to get us past the knee jerk reaction of "how different the arts are today," especially in regards to "full-time musicians" and "entrepreneurs." This focuses instead on sustainability.

One reason this all got started was an argument I had with a former professor about the idea of sustainability. Honestly, I'm sick of seeing the work "sustainable" tossed in with the arts. I'm kind of tired of the idea that orchestras exist to make "hand over fist" large sums of money. Why? Because orchestras don't exist to make money. Orchestras, and the arts in general, are not commercial. What's that mean?

It means that their purpose--their reason for being, is not to make money. Yes, professional musicians can and should be able to make a living performing and creating art. But that's not the same thing. It has to do with a philosophy, an attitude.

I've been recently working my way through the blog (and journal articles) of Jeff Todd Titon. His writings on sustainability, from a cultural, ecological, and financial standpoints are worth perusing. I bring him up because of a series he did back in March entitled "Music is not a cultural asset." In part 1, Titon gives background information, and in part 2 he takes apart David Throsby's arguments about the economics of cultural policy.

I'll let Titon's writings speak for themselves. I agree with most of his points, and definitely see how being tied to corporate structures, and treating music as an asset to be traded in a commodity exchange can cause major issues.. From a more specific standpoint, look at all the popular artists that get discussed as "selling out."

The phrase "selling out" is entirely tied to the idea of commodifying music. An artist creates a piece of work and said work is not "profitable." Let's say, for instance, this is a punk group that is about as hardcore as it gets--screaming, heavily distorted guitars, political statements, everything that is "in your face." They get produced by an independent label, or self-produce, and do alright. An exec from a large label says "we're interested in you, but, you'll have to tone it down one notch. Then you'll go platinum." It's the difference between making a great product, and making a product solely to fit the marketing consensus.

There is a deep philosophical difference between the two issues, the idea of creating a product for it's intrinsic value and finding an audience (or user of the product), and creating a product for the sole purpose of making money, cutting out innovation when needed, and giving users only what metrics define as being "profitable." Companies focused solely on "profitability" often aren't sustainable--look at the bank collapses caused by poor lending practices (which were highly profitable at the time), or companies that find it more profitable to shut down a manufacturing wing because it wasn't making enough money, only to see huge public backlash, and even worse profit margins. Removing the human element, and focusing on "profit" are bad combinations in the corporate world (just ask Hostess), but even worse in the arts.

I've digressed a bit, but here's the main point for me, as an artist--it's about a philosophy and an attitude. Financial sustainability does not cross my mind as I'm working on a piece. It's value as a commodity never crosses my mind. Even similar questions such as "will enough people like this piece?" don't really cross my mind--I accepted many years ago that some people will love my music, others will hate it, and a great many will be indifferent. This is true with all art, no matter if it's folk, popular, or "high." What is on my mind is "how do I create a work that is meaningful to myself, does something that interests me (and thereby, hopefully, others like me), and has some sort of deeper 'universal' quality which is translatable." Granted, that last bit doesn't go into my musical thinking often, but it is a part of what I do as I'm writing (this blog, a research paper, or even another play). Music is, in a way, universal, as well as deeply societally defined...I tend to be more experimental than worry about the tropes, but I have been studying music and cognition a great deal, hoping to unearth something useful (this is, of course, a different topic altogether, so I'll just leave it on this side-street for later examination).

It's this philosophy that's important. Almost all music organizations promote this in their mission statements (except for, maybe, Minnesota Orchestra's old mission statement...oy...). Simple statements like "Great performances for greater audiences" (Kansas City Symphony--though the "we have to make money!" creeps in their statement as well), "To perform, present, and promote music in its many varied forms at the highest level of excellence to a large and diverse audience" (Los Angeles Phil Association), or an even more specific one from the NY Phil:

The mission of the New York Philharmonic is to support, maintain, and operate an internationally pre-eminent symphony orchestra in New York; to maintain and foster an interest in and enjoyment of music; to encourage composition of symphonic music; and to instill in its community, and the nation at large, an interest in symphonic music by providing local concerts, domestic and international tours, education programs, media broadcasts, and recordings. 

And now for a local group, newEar from Kansas City, MO:

newEar contemporary music ensemble dedicates itself to commissioning and performing music of our time and providing listeners with unique and stimulating musical experiences that are rooted in artistic excellence and enhanced by education opportunities.

All these groups are financially sustainable with their current ideas. Looking at their programs also gives a nice idea of what happens when groups focus first on the artistic output, and further down about the financial sustainability. The LA Phil has the Green Umbrella music series--a home for new and experimental works. It's been around for quite a while, and Esa-Pekka Salonen fought hard to keep it running during tough financial times. And what you get is reviews like this, as well as a thriving musical culture always looking forward while still performing "the greatest hits" of past generations.

In summation, it's all about attitude. If an artistic endeavor, orchestra, chamber group, art studio, etc is approached from "how do we make enough money to stay open," what invariably follows is stagnation, conservative programming, and, unfortunately, a loss of money. Sustainability is a quick way to fall away from innovation, away from the Green Umbrella series', and toward a commodification of the art form.

Because if art is simply commodity, just a product meant to be traded with some sort of societally defined financial value, and some harder to define cultural value, then it will cease to evolve. Just like if Steve Jobs thought "I need to think of a product people will want," vs. "I need to think of something that people don't know they want." One statement is innovative, the other not.

And innovation breeds sustainability--by providing new ideas and products that people didn't know they would want, or even need, you can change the world. There's a very old adage "you have to spend money to make money." This is doubly true in innovation, because it won't always work. But if you take a conservative stance, it will, inevitably, not be sustainable. Remember, even though NYCO went under, it wasn't because of their new works. Anna Nicole was, after all, nearly sold out before it even opened. It wasn't the new works that killed NYCO, it was mismanagement (such as going dark for a season, which is a quick killer!).

After all, Beethoven is wonderful, but putting a Beethoven symphony, which the metrics would say sell out every time they are played, is a bad idea. Hyperbole, of course, but the sentiment is similar--"playing it safe" doesn't create a sustainable program. It just puts everything on life support, limping along for a year or two longer...

Opera as Theater--design cannot defeat music

But, boy, did it try.

I attended Parsifal at the Royal Opera in Stockholm on Tuesday evening. I prepared myself for the long haul--a roughly 4.5 hour opera with two 35 minute breaks, by reading the libretto and bookmarking a couple translations on my phone, to check during intermissions if needed. I also ate a tasty burrito at a local Chipotle-esque chain called Zocalo.

My decision to attend was simple: 50% off student tickets and the study of live opera. Writing an opera is half of my Fulbright, and Wagner's operas, in particular, make use of folk and traditional stories often times to espouse his personal political and social ideas.

Christof Loy's version of Parsifal offers a similar tract, placing Loy's own visions onto Wagner's masterpiece. If you're unfamiliar with the story of Parsifal, read here. Loy's version is fairly different, so having a relationship with the original plot may be helpful.

Reviews of Loy's production have all been stellar. Here are a couple examples. One thing you'll notice is that the two reviews had different impressions of the theme of Loy's Parsifal. Both seem to focus on positive aspects of how Loy's theme was played out on stage.

Personally, I had issues with several of the characterizations. My issue didn't come from the performance, nor from the continuity of the theme. I didn't read any reviews before going, so my judgements were my own. My issue had to do with a disconnect between Loy's telling and Wagner's story. To put it bluntly, the words did not match the action.

Parsifal was sung in German with Swedish super-titles. My German is weak, and my Swedish even worse, hence me reading the libretto and having it handy. From the outset, I was confused regarding the choice with Amfortas. Oh, there's no denying who Amfortas is supposed to be: he is portrayed as the forsaken savior, crown of thorns and all. It was his actions that didn't seem to fit the dialogue at times.

In the opening scene, Wagner's Parsifal has Amfortas arrive via processional, carried on a litter by his knights. Loy has Amfortas stumbling in, terrified, injured, barely functioning. The squires on stage look at him in complete disrespect, one even with obvious hate. Loy was beating me over the head--Amfortas is the forsake savior. I get it. But...why's he so pathetic? And why does everyone hate him?

Amfortas enters, and, later, hears that Kundry has found balsam for his wound. His lines: You, Kundry? Do I owe you my thanks again, you restless, timorous maid? Well then! I'll try the balsam now, and thank you for your trouble. (from http://www.monsalvat.no/trans1.htm)

In Loy's version, Amfortas sings these lines laying on the ground, weeping, reaching for Kundry, wanting to touch her, be with her. Kundry, in Wagner's version, is possibly a witch, the temptress, but also the redeemed whore, Mary Magdalene. When she is with the nights, she is paying her penance.

In Loy's version, she is the temptress, who as much reviles herself as relishes the role. She seems to have no control over all men fawning over her and falling for her. And all men DO fall for her in this version--Amfortas, who it later comes out was tempted by Kundry and that's why he is injured and lost the spear, wants nothing more to love her. Of course, in Wagner's version, he has no idea it was Kundry that seduced him and made him lose the spear. Gurnemanz is likewise tempted, regularly by Kundry...and in fact he is afraid to even touch her in Act III when he's supposed to be reviving her. Loy's version of revival is Gurnemanz singing from across the stage at Kundry, before coming near her at the end, taking her hand, and promptly falling into a deep longing for her.

So, thematically, what do we have so far? Amfortas as the frail, weak man, searching for redemption that is not his to attain.

Kundry as the free sexual spirit, and the temptation of all men through this? That men are weak of the flesh and women have infinite power over them, even when they don't want to power?

Ok...I can rectify those with the dialogue, though it makes Amfortas an incredibly weak character. His raging scene, excellently choreographed and designed in the second half of Act I, lays somewhat impotent. To me, he has no choices--he'll keep performing his duty because, while he rails against it and only wishes to die, he's too scared, too weak, of even death to possibly not hold on to this little thing.

The disdain shown to him by the knights and squires also caused me issues. Where did this come from? Why do they hate him so? Is Loy really just being this obvious that Amfortas is the forsaken Savior?

Enter Parsifal. For the most part, he is played close to Wagner's character, but in Act II, we see another moment where the words and the actions seem to be at odds. Or, at least, the interpretation of the words seems confusing to me at best. In "traditional" versions, Parsifal enters the garden after defeating Klingsor's knights, and sees a large amount of beautiful women. The lines to begin:

Chorus:Woe! You there! O woe! What is the cause of this distress? Cursed, cursed shall you be! Parsifal jumps down into the garden. Ah! Bold one!

Maiden Group 1:You dare to approach?

Maiden Group 2:Why did you strike down our beloveds?

Parsifal:You lovely children, should I not have fought them? They barred the way to you, pretty ones.

Now there are lots of ways to do a line reading of the above. Parsifal has entered, he needs to get through these ladies now that he's gotten through the knights. He can do the above lines as a sort of "Hey ladies, you're looking good...if you let me through, I'll come back and take you to a nice steak dinner." Parsifal can play the ladies man.

Parsifal could play it sardonically and sarcastically: "Yeah, I killed the knights to get to you. Now move your asses."

The action plays out to the point where Parsifal continues, "Never before have I seen such a handsome race: if I call you fair, don't you think I am right?">

and then

First Maidens: You struck down our playmates

 All Maidens: Who will we play with now?

Parsifal: I will, gladly!

Remember, Parsifal is supposed to be the "anointed fool." He doesn't know what's happening half the time. From the text, what would your reading be?

Loy's reading is that Parsifal starts out sarcastic, then tries to fight all the ladies, then finally flees until Kundry appears.

This is one possible reading--that everything is turned into sarcasm, that the flower maidens are more than just simple maidens, but horrible seductresses meant to turn Parsifal from his path to the spear. That Parsifal, in his combination of innocence and anger, chooses to flee rather than kill these evil sirens. Possibly.

But that's not what came across to me--what came across is action that didn't fit the words, line readings that seemed inconsistent.

The end, to me, was trite, unoriginal, and tossed in as an extra theme. Throughout the entire opera, the idea that "this is a story, a thing happening in the past" was beaten into me. From the book Gurnemanz is borderline obsessed with, to the lady in 20th century garb entering in every Act at some point, and even the stage direction. The blocking, to put it simply, was about creating pictures, images. This first happens before there's any dialogue: the squires enter, one by one, take a specific place, and pose, statuesque, for at least a minute or two. Then, one by one, they move, and take a new pose.

This happens, continuously, through every scene. That is the entire style of blocking--move one at a time, everyone in position? Great, now, PICTURE! and now one at a time move.

The style of blocking is obviously meant to make a connection to the idea of paintings, of history and stories told in other mediums. In the first Act as Gurnemanz tells the squires the story of Amfortas, a picture is revealed. One review comments that it looks like Monet, but I didn't see the connection to Monet. It appeared more like Arthur Hacker's The Temptation of Percival (which makes sense, considering Parsifal = Percival).

After 4.5 hours of seeing this type of group blocking, I was actually annoyed. When there were two, three, or four characters on stage, the direction was magnificent! Act II between Kundry and Parsifal is beautifully done. Act I during Amfortas' railing against his duties was also fantastic. But add a chorus, and, look out for monotonous movement.

Yes, it ties into an overarching theme...but...

The musical finale is played as the back wall opens revealing a present day library. The same modern garbed woman takes Gurnemanz's book, hands it to another associate to be filed.

I actually groaned. This, this is what Parsifal has been leading toward? Amfortas is on the ground upfront playing in his father's ashes (btw, his father dies in this version), completely unredeemed. Humanity is still as frail as its ever been. And the rest of the troupe wanders into the library, looking amazed, as patrons, slowly mill (entering one at a time, though moving more fluidly now, as they aren't in the book). To me, this is so blatant that it's almost Absurdist. The final moments something is revealed.

And I honestly have no idea what. You see, it was placed at the furthest back point, and all the way up top. The front curtain was raised and lowered to various heights to create depth (great idea), and at this point was about 3/4 up...From the front row of the top balcony, I COULDN'T SEE THE BIG REVEAL!!!

This is one of the biggest blunders I've ever seen in a production. You lead up to a point, all the patrons in the library have stopped milling and are pointing and staring. And at least 1/4 of your audience can't see what's happening. Just because I could only afford a 150SEK seat doesn't mean I shouldn't get to see your big reveal.

This was either a) a mistake by the person operating the front curtain. If it had been all the way up, I would have been able to see it or b) a massive design mistake where no one bothered to check from the balcony.

Loy's production suffers major problems from my perspective. First off, it lacks all subtlety. Let's be honest: Wagner is not going to help you with subtlety nor with blocking. He has large blocks of stand and sing "I'm going to tell you a story now." That's one of the challenges of Wagner. He's blatant in lot of his imagery, such as Kundry anointing the feet of Parsifal when he returns: Yes, that's Mary Magdalene anointing Jesus' feet. He has his subtle moments, but those mostly come from when Wagner has mixed his original texts together, when Christianity meets old Germanic and Norse stories and you have to decide which meaning you'd like to take.

The design choices, to me, feel tacked on. They're not from the story, they're in lieu of the story. Wagner is incredibly direct, even blunt, with what his story is. There are multiple interpretations. But I just can't see where Loy's incredibly blunt statement of "This is a parable. I shall make this apparent that it's a story, but just because it's a story, doesn't mean you can't learn something. See, it's a library, because someone was reading the story, and look, the painting from the first act (I found that out by reading reviews. Lame)" is rectified in the story. It's added to the story, an outside idea forced on top.

And for me, that idea didn't work. I prefer theater that is organic, that comes first from the story, and is then brought out.

That is my problem with this production: so much of it comes not from Wagner, it comes from Loy. In fact, there's very little of Wagner's story. Oh, there are Wagner's words and Wagner's music, but not his story. This is Loy's story. Which, when the actions and characterizations don't match the words, then Loy's story can't work very well.

All the negative out of the way, the performance itself was spectacular! Ola Eliasson as Amfortas, Christof Fischesser as Gurnemanz, Michael Weinus as Parsifal, Martin Winkler as Klingsor, and Katarina Dalayman as Kundry were all spectacular. The chorus numbers were powerful, the flower maidens were all strong in their more soloistic moments.

Major hats off to Christof Fischesser, whose powerful bass voice was absolutely stunning. Not only was the singing technically perfect and musically satisfying, it was delivered with apparent ease and conviction. It allowed Fischesser to performer subtle and complex vocalizations, adding a layer of nuance to Gurnemanz character that was incredibly enjoyable.

The same can be said for Katarina Dalayman. This was especially apparent during her long scene with Weinus during Act II. Weinus has a strong voice, but needs to ground himself to really belt the difficult Wagnerian tenor role. This led to moments of action, then standing, then action. Wagner is unforgiving of his tenors, so this is not meant as negative criticism. Dalayman added nuance to the scene, being able to perform her lines in a variety of positions, sitting, lounging, reaching, and seducing all the while singing in a full, rich tone.

The orchestra matched the musical superiority on stage. Wonderful playing and musical direction. When a trained musician can count on his hands the tiny mistakes, then a group has performed amazingly. The loud sections of the orchestra were huge, nearly deafening (in a good way), and the more subtle sections were nuanced and immaculate. So far I've heard orchestral playing three times in Sweden, and all three times have ranked in the top 10 orchestral performances of my life. Amazing musicianship.

And this isn't to say that all the design choices were poor. I absolutely loved the choice of Kundry being in all black. This, to me, made a connection between Kundry and mourning, her dislike of her "role" and her fervent wish for redemption. The scenic design, other than the finale, was amazing. The front was designed as an all wood enclosure, first as a Gurnemanz cottage, then fancied up a bit for Klingsor's castle. The back wall of the wooden structure opened to a full, raked, and beautifully designed perspective of, first the chapel at Amfortas' castle, the garden of Klingsor's castle, and the library. The use of the sets caused movements from intimate (with a small cast, such as Kundry and Parsifal in Act II, or Gurnemanz and the squires in Act I) to claustrophobic (Amfortas being berated and attacked by his knights in Act III--a Loy construction). Amfortas' castle was open and spacious, while Klingsor's was enclosed and dark. Great scenic comparisons.

Klingsor's castle was perfect, the entire scene and idea. Placing Klingsor as aristocracy vs. the workingman garb of the Knights showed differentiation. His obvious control of the girls, dressed as ballerinas and other performers, as well as having spare chairs from the opera house made a "subtle" statement about the arts becoming controlled by money and being useless entertainment. But it was done in a way that didn't hinder the story in any fashion, in fact, added a layer of subtlety that gave me nice pleasure, a moment of "Here's the plot, here's Klingsor and he's an ass, and...wait, is that? Oh, it is! Nice..." This subtlety was lacking in most of the other scenes.

The lighting designed was equally masterful. It was, for the most part, utilitarian and sparse, but perfect. Windows would be opened to shine light across the stage, and the shadows cast became as interactive and important as the characters themselves.

One note on props: characters seemed to become attached to a single prop: Gurnemanz with the book, Amfortas first with the Grail, then with his father's ashes in an urn. This causes the props to have power. The power of the book becomes apparent at the end (or earlier for some). The power of the Grail is, actually, ignored. It is often placed on the floor, or on a bench, and the chorus moves around it, ignoring it. It's an odd sequence to see everyone reverential to an object, then put it on the floor, and almost kick it over. This was an interesting artistic statement. The same thing happens with Titurel's ashes: Amfortas fumbles them in the quarrel with his knights, breaking the urn and spilling them on the floor. Amfortas goes to wallow in them...moments afterwards the chorus is walking through them, kneeling in them, and ignoring them.

The statement, to me, seemed clear: what we revere in an object is only a personal affectation, fleeting in the moment. Or, perhaps, it is meant to personify the chorus, a group that is actively betraying their one time savior, now fallen--how easily they discard the past and ignored it's ramifications. Of course, all the while, they're telling Amfortas to uncover the Grail and perform the sacrament, even as they ignore the Grail itself. Always this double sided nature to Loy's direction which just added frustration to my experience--not because I "didn't get it" but because it was continuously at odds.

Finally, a moment of amazing direction, and which set-up my expectations for the show, which were then sadly not fulfilled. During the first Act, Gurnemanz talks of the past, of Titurel passing kingship to Amfortas, and Amfortas' quest. The squires move closer, and start to be swayed by the story. The movements become somewhat seductive. Two female squires/flower maidens move down stage, one brushing the others hair. All the other squires inch toward Gurnemanz. As Gurnemanz reaches the point of describing Klingsor's castle, the girl down center rips open her shirt, now topless, moving sensually. The other two female squires have reached Gurnemanz, seductively touching his leg and chest. The males move toward the downstage girl and toward Gurnemanz.

Quickly, Gurnemanz ends the tale. The squires, in a daze, replace their clothing, move away, and seem confused.

This was absolutely fantastic. If Loy was going for "the power of a story and history to affect the present," this scene showed it perfectly. It also shows the frailty of the human spirit, that at any moment we can be swayed, changed, and coerced away from our own ideas and beliefs. It was powerful, subtle, but not so subtle that I think it was lost on the audience.

If Loy had continued in this vein, and not gotten even more blunt, prosaic, and banal, the production would have been a complete success. Instead, I was left with absolutely loving the music, appreciating an amazing performance, and wondering where the nuance and cohesiveness of theater had gone.

Retrospective 2: In the spirit of compromise

Today has been a doozy of a day. At Midnight EST, the US Federal Government shutdown. In Minnesota, Osmo Vänskä resigned after management canceled the Carnegie Hall concerts. Adding insult to injury, with the lockout continuing in Minnesota and no end in sight, Aaron Jay Kernis resigned as head of the Composers' Institute, a major initiative for young orchestral composers run in conjunction with the Minnesota Symphony. And the NYC Opera has canceled the rest of their season and plan on filling of bankruptcy.

All these situations are difficult. At least two really stem from incredibly stubborn groups that just refuse to work in any sort of meaningful fashion with their counterparts. Instead of being two sides of a discussion, people have turned this situation into life-or-death, adversarial, war-like situations. What should be about fostering a compromise for what's best for the entire group by bringing together multiple view-points have become "showdowns at the OK Coral (Chorale?)." 

If you've read this blog, you know I take a very firm stance on most issues. I attempt to formulate these stances by doing at least some research, finding out what's happening, and weighing different opinions against my own personal experiences. Sometimes my own personal experience outweighs opinions, and sometimes my view is swayed in the middle of writing a post.

This is a post where my views were swayed.

I started out writing a post in one vein, and, there's a chance that will come back. But, right now, I look at these situations, and realize that for all my pigheadedness (something I have in spades), I do want to find answers that will work for as many people as possible, across a wide variety of situations.

What does this mean in music?

I'm going to approach this from a few angles, looking at some common perceptions of classical music from both listeners, classical musicians, and myself, and brainstorming ways that these issues may be rectified across the three views. These are, of course, based on wide-generalities, and must be changed in the real world. 

1) Programming:

In a perfect world, I'd love for a significant amount of recent works and 20th century works. Every orchestra should commission at least 1 work a year, and devout at least 25% of the programming to new works. By new works, I'll give some leeway and say anything post WWII. I'd really like there to be an emphasis on American music and music of composers from as wide of backgrounds as possible. This isn't from a "we have to include everyone" idea, but because composers from different backgrounds produce wildly different and engaging music inspired by their background.

I am not taking a Wuorinen viewpoint--25% "masterworks," 25% "20th century works," 25% "living composers known works," and 25% "the untried." While that would be interesting, and in some quarters a dedication to new music, as well as to various outreach and funding possibilities have led to success. But, let's be honest, what happens in LA would not fly in, say, Indianapolis. And what happens in NYC wouldn't work in Atlanta.

So, looking from a few viewpoints, what would be a good breakdown for programming? Where do pops orchestras fit in?

First, I honestly think core programming of Common Practice Period works should be high. I really do love Beethoven, Bruckner, Haydn, Bach, and many others. I think orchestras should look for new and interesting works from that period--and one area I think that needs improved on the most is in concertos. It's always disconcerting to see the same violin concerto programmed multiple years in a row. Yes, the choice is up to the soloist, but wouldn't it be great, in the spirit of compromise, for the soloist and the orchestra to really talk? I'm sure Hilary Hahn would play something other than the Sibelius if you said "Uh, Ms. Hahn, we've done the Sibelius three years in a row...do you have any other concertos? The Tchaikovsky maybe? Haven't done that in years!" It'd still fit the bill of a "standard rep" concerto, but it'd be different. And, of course, the soloist would still have final say.

I do think a larger portion of subscription concerts (non-pops) should be newer works. At this point, I'd say that most orchestras, as best, give 25% over to new works, with maybe a commission every year. I'd love to see every orchestra really give 25% and at least one, if not two commissions a year. At least one work per concert (roughly) would be great--that'd normally fill out to something more like 33% of total works, but not total time. Most of those would undoubtedly be openers, 10-15 minute works.

As for pops concerts, I actually don't have an issue with pops concerts at all, as long as they aren't done at the expense of subscription concerts. And I think cross-over collaborations can actually be really fruitful musical endeavors. Philip Kennicott would hate me for this, but, a piece of me actually enjoyed this piece:

This of course may not fit many orchestras, or their setup...But I can't help but remember the excitement I heard out of Indy with Time for Three, pairing up to play classical works and some more pop style arrangements with the orchestra. Crossing the lines, combining ideas, and being adventuresome can produce good programs.

It won't always work. Not everyone piece will be a winner. But, if we never try, and never move forward, the programs will get really stale as well. And just because one work didn't go well, doesn't mean others won't.

So, there ya go--I'm not against the masterworks, but I do want more effort given to newer works.

2) Attitude
I've touched on this before--how people view the orchestra makes a difference. The physical interaction of the group does change the experience for audience members. What's this have to do with attitude?

I want, one, orchestra performers to always perform like they love the music. Even if they don't like the music, play like you love it. Give it that feeling. I want musicians to be engaged, lively, concentrate, smile, and worry less about being "proper" and more about playing.

I want the orchestra to not care if someone enthusiastically claps between movements. And I want the rest of the audience not to jump down that person's fault. One man, Richard Dare, wrote an article over a year ago talking about how he felt stifled at a concert hall. He wanted to clap, laugh, scream, etc.

As someone that goes to popular concerts, jazz concerts, and "somber, reverential" classical concerts, I can understand. All these concerts have different social graces--you don't usually see too many rock concerts where everyone sits quietly, nor do you see jazz concerts where everyone is singing the tune. And, I think, allowing for good-natured feedback in a live performance is great. Clapping between movements? Well, it can slow things down considerably, but on the other hand, showing that immediate appreciation is also great. As a musician, it's always great when someone claps for me--in a jazz tune, ending a solo (especially one I didn't do so hot on), and hearing applause actually gives me some energy. I'm not a fan of applause after my solo in Bolero, but after a beautiful movement of a symphony? sure.

I mean, is that really all that more "disruptive" than the huge amount of somewhat forced coughing and sneezing?

So, musicians, love what you do every minute. Don't act like you hate something, even if you do--welcome to being a professional. Enter into every piece looking for positives, ways to create beautiful music, and with an open mind. And audience, show appreciation at "appropriate" times, not while music is playing, and everyone else should be supportive and happy someone liked it enough to clap loudly at the end of a movement.

And, if you need to laugh, give an appreciative "yeah!" for a wonderfully nailed solo, or tap your foot, go for it...just do it quietly. Sit next to me the next time I'm at an orchestra concert--you'll see me do all these things, in as surreptitiously a manner as possible. And when I get annoyed looks, I laugh a bit more, because I know the "decorum" of the classical concert all too well.

3) Outreach

First off, let's face a few facts. 1) the age of the audience has gone up steadily. 2) The cause of this is many fold--click on the link in the previous portion. 3) we're tempted, as musicians, to find quick answers. I often hear "it's the fault of education," "the music isn't relevant," "kids aren't into live concerts." Well, all those things could be to blame. So could the "we do it to ourselves," the "Ivory Tower" idea. 4) music education is a varied issue, ranging from topics covered, to time in the classroom, to style of teaching. 5) cultural shifts have changed how we consume media

So, to me, this is where outreach comes in. First, I want to turn music education and outreach away from the one that is most often pushed: performance. There are lots of initiatives that are important here that should have focuses, for sure: youth symphonies, instrument donations, free lessons and sectionals, free after school programs (such as El Sistema). These are great, and I'm definitely not calling for a "rob Peter to pay Paul" mentality with these suggestions.

I think orchestras, new music ensembles, actually every performing group in any area, should do more outreach for listening.

I don't mean free concerts. Free concerts are nice, but I'm thinking more...

Lecture recitals.

Oh yes, those things so many have done in their doctorates. A small group, maybe playing chamber and solo works, go to schools. They present to, hopefully, to groups smaller than everyone in the school. In the presentation, hopefully running about 50 minutes, musicians talk not about the technical bits of music, nor about how to get a career in music, but about listening to music. I mean presentations like this one by Benjamin Zander. And many of you know this little outtake of Bobby McFerrin



Now, the bit with McFerrin does have performance, but not in the way I was talking--it's not about making performers, it's about connecting an audience with music.

This is something many classically trained musicians want to do. Heck, it's why many of us got into this--I know it's why I'm here.

Audience members respond well to the "pre-concert" talks, many show up, want to hear more about the music. It creates a more rich listening experience when they hear musicians talk passionately about the music. Why is it always in the concert hall? Why aren't there more talks out in the public?

One guess is because, in some places, they tried, a couple times. And not many people showed up. Any new event takes time to build. So, these new outreach programs may not pay dividends in the near future--but it'll matter when those 12 year old kids that you reached with a couple outreach lecture recitals become 29 year olds with jobs and want to support the orchestra that came to them with outreach lecture/concerts.

And keep up all the rest of the outreach as well--everything plays a big part. And if more of the small groups would band together, more of these outreach opportunities could occur as well. It'd be great if members from lots of different groups got together and formed an "outreach coalition," in the spirit of compromise.

I do have another whole blog being prepped on outreach ideas for musicians of all walks, so stay tuned.

and finally:

4) Get over the fear of the new

Ok, this one isn't just going to be about compromise, about looking at lots of viewpoints and offering what I think are constructive views.

This one is personal.

Everyone involved: be willing to evolve.

A friend of mine posted a question that led to a lot of this thinking, and one point at the end struck me: How do we incorporate more meaningful new music into our models while not condemning the standard rep?

One word sticks out and makes me think. The question itself is important: how do we incorporate new music into the standard rep? What types of pieces? In what ways, context, etc? I've covered that already.

But it's another word: meaningful.

What is meaningful new music? How do we categorize it? Is it technically well constructed new music? Is it new music an audience will like? Is it new music that the orchestral musicians like? Is it socially and culturally relevant new music?

But, for me, this takes a different tone. Whenever I see meaningful, and in retrospect, use meaningful, it has a connotation of distrust. It says "I'm not sure I find this thing of equal importance to my current mindset." Like I said, I see this in myself as much as I do others. But it's an important idea to think about. How attached are we all to our current modes of thinking? Our current whims? Our current philosophies?

When I see the strikes in Minnesota, I see two groups that are stuck in their philosophies. One is a set of bankers masquerading as non-profit board-members, trying to cut from the largest profit differential, salaries, to make more money for the stake-holders...in this case, the endowment I guess. And I see musicians saying "the old ways are fine--we'll take a bit of a pay cut, but don't change what we do." Now, don't mistake this; I am firmly on the side of the musicians and think the management has acted atrociously. However, I think a lot of these questions come from a "new vs. old" dilemma. And I'm tired of "versus." I really do want cooperation and collaboration.

So, everyone, be ready to try new things. Because, let's be honest, a lot of the old systems are failing. I'm not sure they were ever designed to work all that well in the first place, and with the cultural, social, and economic shifts in America, old paradigms are going to have to fall away.

This doesn't mean getting rid of the masterworks. And it doesn't mean embracing only the newest fads.

But it does mean keeping an open mind and talking.

So, everyone, weigh in. Where can we start at building a new image for orchestras, and for classical music? What sort of image do you see?

For me, I see an image that retains its virtues, but isn't afraid to evolve through the cooperation of everyone involved: the audience, management, musicians, and guys like me, new music composers who love academia.

Retrospective 1: The Perception of Orchestral Performances

Related to my last post, an old friend of mine said on Facebook

While I have enjoyed reading them, there is a tenor in your posts that doesn't quite resonate with me as a fellow musician. I respect the authority and learned nature of your analyses, but the over-arching, general conclusions you come to don't accurately reflect my own experiences. Of course, I understand that one must generate their own conclusions mostly derived from their own experiences, but I felt compelled to write you that my conclusions of the state of western/classical music is not the same as yours, probably because my experiences have most likely been different than yours. Your opinions on the role of new music in comparison with the standard repertoire, how symphony models should function given their challenges, and defining what those challenges actually are differ from my own. I just wanted to write to you that all the ailments you feel the current model(s) have, remember the sample size is probably larger than one initially realizes. What happens in one city, in one orchestra, in one country, doesn't necessarily provide an ample basis to summarize the status of all models.

And, on this, I 100% agreed with him. If more than 100% were possible, I'd be that. The generalization of an entire model based on one, or even a few orchestras in cities in a single country is not enough to generalize about all of music.

I also have a very specific viewpoint on orchestral music and performance, from why I don't write symphonies, to why I enjoy certain performances over other performances.

What I thought I'd do for a few blog posts is start looking into some of the "whys." I asked "why" so many composers and young musicians jumped all over John Adams. Now it's time to ask why in regards to my own thought processes.

First off, why am I putting this on the internet and not just in a journal under my bed? Because I, foolishly perhaps, believe that my words can have an effect on the world--especially the immediate world that surrounds me. People I know, people I interact with, and, to a lesser extent, "friends of friends." Perhaps my own views are mirrored in others, and this process will help others. Or, perhaps, but offering a better understanding of my viewpoints, those with differing views can begin to see where I'm coming from.

So, let's begin with the post that began this process--my perception about orchestral performance. Let's think of sample size first and put in a few conditionals. Condition 1: Recordings don't count. Going to a concert, playing in a concert, and listening to a recording all different activities. Recordings are a medium change, and therefore reference an event. This causes a loss of "energy," if you will. This is like in an internal combustion engine, when gas, oxygen, and spark collide, potential energy of the gas and oxygen mix is released as kinetic energy. This change of form causes a loss of energy, in this case as heat. It's not a perfect system.

I've talked about all this before, a long time ago.

The next thing to examine is I'm going to ignore times when I was in the orchestra. This takes out a fairly significant amount of my time around orchestras. But, I think it's important to analyze this from a particular point of view: the audience.

Now, I'm not one to say "play only music the audiences wants to hear," nor to say "write music for the masses." In fact, I think it's quite the opposite--part of the orchestras job is to challenge audiences. This isn't just with the music that is played, but in the actual style of performance.

That being said, an audience can tell pretty immediately if a group is enjoying themselves. They can tell when there is energy within the ensemble. Music performance has a way of transmitting the performers feelings, be it about the piece, the conductor, his/her stand-mate, or any other event in the performer's life. It's been said "Performers are naked on stage." This is true, whether you're a soloist or last chair in a section of a Mahler sized orchestra.

If we take that is true, that the audience can tell the emotions of the performer, how then do I go to concerts and not feel moved. Do the performers dislike the music? This happens sometimes. I've been to a premiere of a new work where it was obvious the players didn't like the music. Since I knew several members of the orchestra, I was able to ask them about the piece, and most showed general disdain for it. And, honestly, I could tell.

Part of this could be because I'm a trained musician. Articulations seemed just a bit sluggish. There wasn't the same amount of control in the playing--I wouldn't go so far as the say careless. I've never been to a professional orchestra concert that was "bad." But beyond the playing being a little lackluster, it was the movements, the facial expressions, the body language. There was a fair amount of concentration--the piece called for measure by measure accelerandos, done as accelerandos. The rhythms were pounding, repetitive, and dissonant. And the orchestra showed all of that. I could tell they thought this mode of writing the piece wasn't effective, as it seemed like they were only giving 85% of their concentration toward lining up those accelerandos. Articulations weren't quite lining up.

I didn't like the piece. This was before I was really getting into composition, but I had always loved "new music." And this piece didn't jive with me. As a composer now, remembering how the piece was written, yes, obviously, it was constructed poorly. Doing a rhythmic accelerando is much easier for the orchestra to read, line up, and concentrate on. But, part of the job of the performer is to sell any piece.

This reminds me of jazz band in college. I remember one rehearsal where various players kept flubbing notes (myself included). And most of us made faces. We knew we had missed it. And we choreographed that. Our director got on us immediately after he cut us off. "What are you doing?" he asked. "The audience may not know you missed the note. But even if they did notice, they're not going to care all that much unless your body screams 'I missed a note. I suck.' Then they will care and remember that missed note."

But this little tidbit goes both ways, I think. Almost every musician is told some form of the above: be stoic, be composed, don't show that you messed up. However, this can be taken too far.

I've been to orchestra concerts where it seemed like the entire orchestra was made of statues. Barely any movement, barely even a cracked smile. It seemed like the only things moving on the string players were their arms. All the brass had proper posture, brought their horns up, and played cleanly. When not playing, they were still, eyes forward.

I felt a sense of disconnect. Are these people? Are they enjoying themselves? They were performing the music wonderfully. Very clean, beautiful dynamic range, wonderful balance, nearly perfect intonation. But I wasn't drawn in. I felt like I was listening to a recording. Or starting at a painting. The only person moving was the conductor, and while he was entertaining, it still seemed odd.

I'm then reminded of a small local "pops" orchestra. I went to their concert because Nitzan Haroz was playing the Grondahl concerto, and then some jazz arrangements with the group. Nitzan is a beast of a player, the Grondahl has a special place in my heart (as it does for all sorts of trombone players...often as their first "real" concerto), and I hadn't been to an orchestra concert for about a year at this point.

These were not completely "amateur" players by any stretch. But there was a great contrast between them and the orchestra mentioned above. They moved with the music, section leaders brought in groups (possibly because they had to lead more), they were active on stage. Nothing flashy, not running around or anything like that, but active. Nitzan was also active as a soloist: he bent his knees, leaned back, swayed lightly with the music, seemed to go up on tiptoes as a rising quiet line went up, then let himself down as the line moved back down. It reminded me a great deal of my own playing, which people always commented was "lively and engaging."

I was drawn into Nitzan's playing, and I was drawn into the performance.

The last example I'll give is one I've mentioned before...though I now can't find it. I heard the Kansas City Symphony sparingly during my time in KC. By then my prejudices as a composer, the petty little "You won't deal with me as a composer, so why should I deal with you as an audience member?" It is petty. I fully admit that. It got worse after meeting their composer in residence...but that's a different story.

Anyway, I did go to the orchestral readings of UMKC composers works when I could. I referenced one earlier. One of the things I always remember from these readings is a certain violinist. She's much older than most in the group--she'd definitely be qualified as a "little old lady." I remember the moment the group of composers joked about her. I didn't join in the joking, but I'll admit to chuckling. Again, bad show on my part.

But then, she showed every single one of us kids how wrong we were. As we watched the group, the conductor was doing mainly straight patterns and light cuing. These were reading after all, so it gets much more difficult to "get into" the music at this point. Hence why I'm not talking about the whole orchestra--the situation is very different.

But this violinist was engaged every single moment. Our group couldn't help but move our eyes to her. She moved toward the edge of her seat as passages got louder. She seemed to draw back slightly with diminuendos. When she dug in with her bow for a hearty passage, we could all tell. Nothing she did made the music seem "difficult," like it was a strain. In fact, her engagement made the music seem easy--if she could react this way in a "reading," then think about what would happen during a well rehearsed performance.

The Kansas City Symphony has always set somewhere in the middle for me as far as orchestra responsiveness. They never seem disengaged or irate about playing a piece (well, a little with one piece I can think of...), but they were slightly reserved.

Reserved is a style of orchestral playing. Maybe it can be traced to the same time period as getting the strings to match bowings. Maybe it comes from an idea that "we need to stay out of the way as performers so the music can speak for itself." But, for me, as an audience member, I feel much more engaged when an orchestra as also acts engaged.

The final example I'll give is Bruckner's 4th Symphony with the ISO, Mario Venzaga conducting. If you've never seen Venzaga conduct, then you're missing out. Talk about a lively conductor. And his interpretations of Bruckner are always a joy to hear. And this performance was no exception. When Venzaga turned to the cellos, and gave a "stirring the pot" type gesture, hand low, swirling in a circle, the cellos responded immediately with their swirling line, giving a little bit of an accent on the beginning of each small repetition. They seemed to move forward slightly in their seats, and engage. The whole section knew this was an important part that Venzaga wanted pulled out, and they responded. These types of little moments happened frequently during the performance.

And, in my youthful exuberance (I think I was...19 or 20 at the time?), I leapt to my feet and gave a rousing standing O, including yells of "BRAVO!" Seriously, me, of all people...the guy that hardly gives a standing O these days. Heh.

As a performer, I can say that I was partially trained to "tone it down." Knowing my personality, I'm sure I was closer to Liberace than Nitzan Haroz with my body movements. There IS a limit of course. But audiences respond to that type of physical energy.

This doesn't mean the performers of the orchestras I've been to weren't amazing. The NY Phil was an amazing experience. The ISO and KCS never once sounded "bad" or put on a concert so poorly that I wanted my money back. Far from it. But what makes a performance great?

I think this connection, the performers showing they're connected with the music, the conductor, and each other, only helps to connect the audience with the performance. This doesn't mean go "Liberace" (for me, a newer case would Lang Lang...as my brother pointed out when I sent him a video of Lang Lang "He even dresses like Liberace!"). But it does mean don't be afraid to show emotion, move to the music, make eye contact across the ensemble when needed, and appear to be present.

Appearance is part of the game. And it may be one reason why people are being drawn to groups like eighth blackbird, who don't go to Liberace levels, but always show physical energy in performance. But then, chamber music is a different game, and one where energy is more prevalent.

And I'm not saying we should go back to "everyone bows non-uniformly" nor to "everyone where whatever they want to wear." But the appearance of being engaged, the physical energy and joy shown by the performers translates to the audience. And that is incredibly important to remember.

Please, audience members, conductors, performers, composers, EVERYONE, chime in! What draws you into a performance? Do the physical actions of the performers make a difference? Let's have a dialogue!

Swedish Adventures 2--I went to the symphony

In Swedish Adventure #1, I went to a night of Kaija Saariaho's chamber music. Saariaho is a current Polar Prize laureate, and the concert was the kick off of her year. In my second major Swedish adventure, I headed out to hear the Kungliga Filharmonickerna (Royal Philharmonic).

This was a spur of the moment decision. I was online chatting with a friend about all the tears being spilled over John Adams. Over the course of the conversation, I was contemplating how I should spend the evening, or weekend. I needed to get out and be disconnected from the internet for a while. The topic started with "should I buy some hockey tickets" to "wonder where I can go to a metal show tonight" and finally to "Well, lemme check the konserthuset website and see if there are any interesting concerts."

And there was a concert starting at 7pm that evening. Tickets aren't expensive, and with a student discount, I can actually splurge every so often for "nice" seats. The concert itself didn't have anything on it that astounded me. George Enescu's Suite No. 2, Beethoven's 4th Piano Sonata with Leif Ove Andsnes as soloist, and Nielsen Symphony No. 2. My interest was somewhat piqued with Nielsen--I've never actually heard any of his symphonies live.

So, spur of the moment, I said goodbye to my friend, threw on a dress shirt and khakis (changing from the jeans with the hole in the knee, and a somewhat ratty white tee), and flew out the door. Luck had me arriving at the bus-stop just as a bus rolled up. This is somewhat of a miracle. I've actually never ridden the bus from my apartment to the subway. It stops infrequently, and I'm too impatient to just wait 10 minutes...especially since it's a 15 minute walk.

On the bus I leapt (which, btw, my browser is saying isn't a word. Made me doubt myself and look it up. Chrome, you're wrong). No, I actually did leap onto the bus, as I had to sprint the last half block to catch the bus. The public transit in Stockholm really is fantastic (AND CLEAN!). But enough about travel.

So, here I am, last minute decision to go to a concert. I purchase a nice ticket, but not "amazing." Floor level, slightly to the right of center, just back from the "middle" row. The hall is beautiful, the seats are comfortable, and I'm surrounded by strangers all coming to hear the orchestra. My first thought is "wow, there's a goodly number of people around my age. That's awesome. Wonder how many are here for the soloist?" It wasn't sold out, but had a good sized audience, definitely respectable.

The piece was Enescu's Suite No. 2. It is just as Enescu always is: an pseudo neo-classicist, basic developmental techniques, lots of repetition of themes, and Romantic orchestration. I've heard Enescu live before, and it's surprising how homogeneous is style is. But I didn't really come for the Enescu. That being said, I don't write off music just because I didn't come for it.

During the first movement, I stated to notice things about the orchestra. There was a lot of eye contact between principals. The principals were cuing in their sections, turning slightly and bringing them in. The players were moving, really moving with the music. I swear the viola section was going to jump out of their chairs.

Later in the Enescu, there was a duet between the principal cello and violin. They played it like chamber music. The moved together, were almost staring each other down. The principal violist was smiling the whole time. I noticed some second violins, especially toward the rear chairs, really getting into the fast and loud moments. It seemed like everyone leaned back a little bit when they got quieter.

The orchestra was active. They were engaged. By the time the piece was in the final movement, they had me. Here I was enjoying a piece of music I don't particularly like because the orchestra, almost every member I could see, was engaged and enjoying themselves. They were having fun playing.

The Beethoven was the same. It was obvious Andsnes loves the piece. There were no flowery movements like you'd see from Lang Lang (or Liberace Jr.). But he moved. When the orchestra took up a phrase, it was obvious they had been paying attention to how Andsnes just played it. During a cadenza, I looked around the orchestra. There were first violins and cellos toward the back leaning slightly so they could see Andsnes better. The first stand violins were smiling. The associate principle second violinist was swaying lightly to the music. I couldn't quite tell, but I thought her eyes were closed, just soaking in the music. They were enjoying listening to the soloist, but still more than present enough in their own music to nail their next entrance.

The Nielsen was a joy. This was the piece I was looking forward to, and now I was wondering how they would handle it. It's a large piece. It's loud sections should dwarf Enescu and Beethoven. It's quiets should be sublime. This may have been the one weakness of the group, or perhaps of the hall: the loud sections did not ring out, they were not giant masses of sound. The orchestra was playing with all their might coordinated, but it still felt chamber like. For sheer power, they didn't compare to a NY Phil blasting Bruckner 7. But the players were obviously playing with all their heart.

I walked away feeling invigorated. I'll be honest, there have been few orchestral performances that really drew me into the action. NY Phil and Bruckner 7 was great--I love that piece, so a good performance will always draw me in. But it's what happened during the pieces I don't love that impressed me.

I pulled up a recording of Enescu Suite No. 2 from Naxos today, just to make sure my brain wasn't faulty. It didn't impress me. It's a lively piece at times, but everything seemed very formulaic and conservative. And his "fake endings" didn't add any suspense. Instead, it seemed like he had finished talking, then had one more sentence that was of no importance tacked on. It was alright to listen to the recording, but not something I'd search out.

And that's when I made the final decision: I will go to another Kungliga Filharmonikerna concert. If they wow me with their intensity and connection to the music again, I'll know that what happened was not a fluke.

This seems like a group the genuinely loves to play music. And because of that, for the first time in quite a long time, I really enjoyed going to a symphony. I would go to a concert by the Kungliga Filharmonikerna of music I don't like. I'd go to an all Mozart concert. Why?

Because I think they'll draw me into the performance. And if they can do that, then I'll undoubtedly hear things in Mozart that I've never heard. I'll hear Mozart the way Mozart should be heard.

No other symphony has made me feel this way. The only other orchestral experience I've had that's really similar happened while playing trombone at DePauw. We did a concert on a "short turnaround," only four weeks. So, Prof. Smith pulled out Dvorak Symphony 7 since he assumed lots of string players would know it. He was right. And during that performance, I saw him slowly light up as the group really played well together. So many people knew the music. When I got my cue for the trombone melody at the end, he was flushed, and instead of the direct, somewhat reserved cue I usually got from him, I got a huge sweep of the arm and Prof Smith rising almost to his tip-toes.

I nailed that entrance. I nailed my line. I felt the energy.

Last night, with Kungliga Filharmonikerna, I felt that energy in the audience. And that is a fantastic feeling, and something missing from many performances these days.

Why aren't I writing symphonies?

Some popular articles on NPRs Deceptive Cadence making the rounds are by Kevin Puts on "Why Write Symphonies?"; a Q&A with David Robertson centering on the question "Why Are American Orchestras Afraid of New Symphonies?"; a discussion with Mohammed Fairouz on "Creating American Symphonies To Tell A 'Distinctly American' Stories;" an article by Derek Bermel  "Why Aren't Composers Writing More Symphonies Today?"; and an entire series looking at American Symphonies--here's just one post on Mid-Century American Symphonies. All of these have interesting discussions.

Puts' article is personal, and breaks down his story of how he got into writing symphonies. Robertson has very practical views, from audiences being afraid of new (which depends 100% on the demographic you're working toward-- this is a mentality I dislike, and Michael Kaiser backs me up.) as well as the very practical issues of cost of performance. And remember, Robertson is one of the musical directors completely unafraid to break new ground and program new works. He's the good guy, fighting that first mentality of "scared audiences," though he still seems a bit beholden to the idea. 

Fairouz, like Puts, describes why he personally writes symphonies. You can listen to some of Fairouz's work on his website. As for Bermel, well, he seems to take a more semantic approach--young composers are still writing orchestral works, but aren't using the word symphony, and are often keeping the works smaller in scope. 

Now, I'll tell you my story, what I've seen, been told, and experienced from orchestras.

My first experiences with orchestral writing came in undergrad. I was studying trombone and composition with Jim Beckel. He's the principal trombonist for the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, and has written several orchestral works. He told me, straight up, how difficult it was to get orchestral works performed, even when he has the "in" of being a part of the orchestra. Well, I wrote a terrible little piece that semester, and it shall remain hidden for all time.

Next came while I was studying with Carlos Carrillo. I was the trombonist with the chamber orchestra, and we were preparing a West Coast tour. The director, Orcenith Smith, had chosen a Haydn symphony for our large piece...So I was stuck sitting in the back for 25 minutes or so. Obviously wracked by guilt, he decided to let me play a solo. Carlos jumped on this and said "YOU HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THE GROUP! AND SOLO!" So, after talking to the Prof. Smith, he agreed, as long as I kept it short, was strings and MAYBE percussion, and could be learned in the abbreviated amount of time. So, I threw something together.

And the piece was quite popular on the tour, especially when we hit high schools. It was my first moment of "stardom" with 14-18 year olds asking me all sorts of questions. It was fun.

But I learned something else about new music and orchestras--they like short and easy to learn. Because, let's be honest, they're going to spend their time on the big piece. And, as a young composer, the likelihood of my piece being the big piece is low.

It's now been almost eight years since I wrote my last orchestral piece. And I have no intention of writing an orchestral piece in the near future. I've waxed poetic enough--time to be blunt.

• When I think of writing an orchestral work, it's not a 10 minute intro piece. 
• When orchestras look to premiere pieces, they're either "intro" pieces, specific commissions by highly experienced composers, or concertos brought in by the player (sometimes a member of the orchestra, some times not). 
• The opportunities for me to get a large-scale orchestral piece performed at this point in my life are slim. Not to say impossible, but slim.
• Readings are available, but even these stress pieces being in the 10 minute range.
• Orchestras are looking for pieces they can put together in a short amount of time due to their rehearsal schedules. This is a practical consideration--when you only have a week or two to learn a piece, it becomes more difficult.
• There are tons of opportunities for me to write and get chamber works performed. New music groups are sprouting up all over the place, and competitions are everywhere. Even choirs put out more open calls for pieces.
• Even then, I don't write pieces for competitions. I either write them because I want to write them, or the more likely scenario, because I have a commission and/or performance lined up. Of my last ten or so works, only one was written with a clear performance lined up, and I was able to score 2 performances of it within six months of finishing the piece.
• These days composers are pushed toward "entrepreneurship." How easy is it to get together an 80+ piece orchestra? It's not something a young composer, or even a collective of young composers can pull off without a large amount of assets available. 
• This isn't to say there are no opportunities for readings, or working with orchestras. The American Composers Orchestra does readings every year, as well as workshops, and lots of programming of new works. There are other smaller orchestras doing the exact same thing around the country. 
• Even large orchestras are joining the act. Pittsburgh has had a reading session for ten years or so. Milwaukee has started a composer institute.  Even Memphis put out an open call for a commissioning project. 
• But let's be honest about Memphis. Will it go to a young composer? No, it'll more than likely go to an established composer. And this isn't a knock on Memphis at all, just the truth that in an open competition, it's going to be difficult as an emerging composer that's still working on craft to beat out, say, Chen Yi or Martin Bresnick. 
• So, there ARE opportunities, if you write the "right" kind of music. And have some ins. And want to spend your time working nearly exclusively in that medium.

But, for me, the time isn't right, the support from major orchestras just isn't there for emerging composers, and I'm not willing to "play the game," run the circuit, and force myself into being "just" an orchestral composer. I still want it all.

And, when I think of writing an orchestral piece, it's like this: 

Remember, that's part one. The recording I have of this work runs over 30 minutes. And that's the sort of minimum I'd go for. John Luther Adams also pops to mind, though I run a bit more complex than he does...But that open, expensive, shifting idea. Something that moves and fits the orchestra.

And if I wrote that piece right now, I'd have 0 chance of performance. Even with the venues available, it'd be too long, too complicated, too taxing.

Now, this isn't to say I'll never write an orchestral piece. And, if I do, I may well title it "Symphony 1." I'm not so hung up on semantics as other composers, and don't particularly believe in programmatic works the same way others do.

And so much of this industry is "who you know." And I don't know that many orchestral conductors, composers sitting on panels for major orchestral commissions, or much associated with orchestras. If anything, I've probably pissed off at least three orchestras (if they read my blogs and/or posts elsewhere).

But, for now, there aren't opportunities to do what I want to do. Maybe, someday, there will be.

For now, I'll keep writing chamber works, chamber operas, and electroacoustic pieces. And, who knows, maybe I'll get the chance to write a symphony someday. Just as long as they give me a two year heads up, because I bet it'll take me that long to write one!

***UPDATE

I've already had some great conversations with people about this post! It's really great that this blog can start active discussions in the music community. After one conversation, I wanted to make a few points clear.

1) No one has flat out told me "Don't write symphonic works." If I made it sound that way, I didn't mean to. I have been cautioned at every step how incredibly difficult it is to get them performed.

2) It's really about opportunities to do what I want. I'm not "giving up" on orchestral music. Nor am I "selling out" my music by writing a certain way. What I would love to do with an orchestra is write a 60-90 minute gigantic piece, possibly with electronics and video. That'd take me well over two years to do, and unless I have a chance at a performance, I'm just not sure dedicating two+ years of my life to a single piece are worthwhile.

And, yes, I've dedicated large amounts of time to pieces before without a guarantee of performance and it worked out...but they weren't nearly this large. I spent a year on Cake, 8 months of which I didn't have any sort of venue for it. And I spent 6 months writing Dance of Disillusionment, then revising it, before that piece got a break as well. Those experiences have me wary, especially when I do have some groups eager to play my pieces.

So, I'm not sacrificing some dream for a practical matter, I'm just making a choice, the kind of choice we all make, all the time: do I want to do this or that more? For me, I'd rather work intimately with a wider group of musicians with more pieces right now than dedicate that much time to a symphony.

And all this is said as I'm working on another opera, which at the moment doesn't have a venue. But, unlike with symphonies, I have CONTACTS in the chamber opera world...so I'm a bit more confident I can put something together with it.

Is new music and outreach the problem?

UPDATE: Check out my 2nd post on this topic, this one taking on Kennicott's ideas of new music.

An article posted at newrepublic is making the music rounds. It's title and page name give it all away: America's Orchestras are in Crisis: How an effort to popularize classical music undermines what makes orchestras great. The page title: orchestras-crisis-outreach-ruining-them.

The article starts out describing Nashville Symphony's near foreclosure, mainly due to being unable to afford the interested on a letter of credit that helped build a $123.5 million symphony center. The symphony has been running deficits for the past few years in the $10-20 million range. Yes, this is a problem, somewhat...If we take for granted that they are supposed to always operate in the black and be a for profit. Which, as I discussed earlier, isn't really the point of orchestras.

Which gets me to the main question that popped into my head after reading this article: What is the point of an orchestra. According to the writer, Philip Kennicott, it is mainly about the standard rep. And that is a stance he maintains throughout the article.

There are lots of interesting bits, a notable attack on the "Americanizing the American Orchestra" document, with a fun quote by Edward Rothstein calling it "thoroughly wrongheaded, an abdication of the tradition orchestras represent and a refusal to accept responsibilities on artistic leadership." Kennicott seemed completely in league with this opinion.

It's interesting to me, as I decided to re-read the "Americanizing" before posting this. Kennicott says that most orchestras adopted the basic tenets of the document. After re-reading it, I couldn't disagree more. "Achieving Cultural Diversity" is laughable, the entire chapter on "The relationship of Musicians and the Orchestral Institution" has been completely ignored, the concert-going experience has become less and less varied over the years, orchestras in education are more about working with elite groups, or small movements forward, volunteerism is low, orchestral leadership is mostly run by non-musicians that have no training in even running a non-profit, and the repertoire is stagnant. So, what do I mean? Well, taking apart Kennicott and the 200+ page "Americanizing" would be a dissertation--and while I am writing a dissertation, it is not on the American Orchestra. I am a composer, after all...

So, let me approach these problems from my perspective: 29 years old, composer and trombonist, finishing a doctorate in music composition, starting my professional life pretty well, and someone who loves Beethoven, Brahms, Bruckner, and any number of other composers whose last names start with B.

Skipping ahead through Kennicott's history of the orchestra (which is quite good), I come to a statement that made me a bit sad: "Almost none of this is of any interest to serious listeners, including those with diverse musical tastes who prefer the real thing to the local orchestras attempt to imitate jazz, ethnic, or pop forms." This in reference to Detroit symphony having special events that include video-game nights, the Texas Tenors, the Indigo Girls, holiday events, movie nights, etc. My gut reaction?

Well, I'm interested in video-game nights, Indigo Girls (or similar style concerts), and movie nights. I'm not into holiday events, but that's because I'm a Grinch, and I'm not into cross-over artists like Josh Grobin (though I have been to a Josh Grobin concert, and he is a charismatic guy. Just not my cup of tea). So, I sit here thinking "Who is Kennicott representing?"

My answer is simple: "The Olde Guard." These are the same people that dislike Boulez, and wanted music that was, no matter what, tied to the "orchestral tradition," which is really not that old, nor is it that demanding. Kennicott is right on to point out how things have changed, how the silent listening is "counterculture" and even that it's a good thing. Couldn't agree more there, though I think the amount of "shushing" when a concert goer does send some heartened gratitude toward the orchestra at an "inappropriate time" is also rude...I'm sure most concert-goers in a normal audience would have freaked out when, after a group premiered a piece of mine and nailed it, I jumped up, screamed "YEAH! WAY TO GO!!!" and wanted to just run on stage and hug every musician for performing so beautifully. In that moment, it wasn't that it was "my" music, but that this was a piece I was intimate with, and they nailed it. The same could be said after hearing the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra perform Bruckner 4 to a nearly empty house many years ago. It was so empty, with my $10 student rush "sit wherever is open" ticket, I got premium seats. The ISO NAILED that performance, and, without a moment of hesitation, I clapped between movements, and leaped from my seat at the end screaming "BRAVISSIMO!" Yes, I'm that guy that, at that point being around 21, and an undergraduate in music, was so excited for Bruckner that I screamed like a Beilieber.

I've been in on conversations about orchestras, and, honestly, I think while Kennicott has some good thoughts, and his heart is in the right place, he's not looking at some facts.
Fact 1: the "base" is getting older, and isn't willing to spend money in a tough economy.

Fact 2: Orchestras are not doing a good job expanding their bases.

Fact 3: Younger generations are turned off by orchestras not just because of the music, but because the orchestras and their defenders themselves tell them "this music isn't for you. You're not 'serious' enough."

Fact 4: young musicians ARE TURNING AWAY FROM ORCHESTRAS! Not only are orchestras alienating future attendees, but the musicians themselves are turning away. Kennicott doesn't care about video game music. Well, guess what, most of us don't care about seeing every Beethoven symphony offered every year in a single metropolitan area. Why? because

Fact 5: All music is available for people to listen to at a moments notice for a small price (or free), and the orchestra isn't doing a good job of showing what they provide over the recorded medium, or offering things that the recorded medium can't offer.

Fact 6: People are generally uneducated about the music, not in a "you don't understand sonata form" but in the "I've never even heard something from an opera" or "What instruments are in a symphony? Strings, right?"

Fact 7: Never before has orchestral music been so much about being a "museum." And, to defend myself from Kennicott's attack of "Well don't you like museums?" my answer is "Yes, I do, but orchestras are not museums." Orchestras are living, breathing entities. During Mozart's time, did they play nothing but Telemann and CPE Bach? During Beethoven's, nothing by Haydn? During Brahms, nothing by Beethoven?  If they had, we wouldn't have gotten much Mozart, Brahms, etc...No, before Beethoven the groups were tied to courts with each court having its own composer. Orchestras got bigger and less centralized starting in the Classical period, and by Beethoven there were more state-run groups (which coincided with the creation of centralization of power in the 18th and 19th century). Even then, groups were "clique" oriented, with some composers being the laureates and taking charge--I think of the French Grand Opera and Meyerbeer as resident. Orchestral programs often had local flavors from the great composers of the area, and at times it was difficult for composers to become more "metropolitan." And many died in obscurity, or with one or two modest hits outside their area. Take, for instance, Bruckner, who had one major orchestral success--his 7th symphony. Beyond that, he was somewhat known for his masses, and definitely for his organ playing. He applied for teaching positions in Vienna regularly, and was turned down almost continuously, until he reached a much older age and finally had got to teach a few years. All this in his mid to late 60s.

These facts are important. And the way to fix most of them is through outreach. Kennicott thinks turning to outreach defeats the purpose of the orchestra. What is the purpose of the American orchestra? Most say it is to bring the greatest music at the highest possible level to their community. If your community doesn't know the music you're playing, then is the concert the correct "teaching" experience? I don't think so.

The final bit in Kennicott's writing is more a review of a specific piece. First Kennicott talks about the failing to increase the amount of black musicians in the St. Louis Youth Orchestra...which, I have an entire blogpost formulating on why youth orchestras, and music program in general, fail with many urban and rural communities, really only thriving in suburban areas (lemme give you a hint: money).

Kennicott dislike Ingram Marshall's "Kingdom Come." Now, I'll admit that I am somewhat ignorant of the piece--and I've tried to purchase and download it, but it seems being in Sweden makes that process a little more complicated...

Anyway, Kennicott created a checklist of the "currently fashionable...new classical works: ...harmonically and melodically accessible and socially topical, it mixes media, and it draws on musical cultures outside the concert hall." Hm, well, I don't see a problem with those things at all. And, I guess he hasn't gone to many new music concerts because to make such a blanket generalization about contemporary music is as profoundly silly as making such a blanket generalization about orchestral music. Kennicott also seems to like melodic styles than motivic styles, which makes me wonder how much he likes the development sections of, say, Brahms. But that's not where I get a little concerned: these are opinions, and we are all allowed our opinions. And until I hear "Kingdom Come" I can't really enter a dialogue about its effectiveness as a piece...and even then I lose the live portion (such as Kennicott's critique that the recorded media weren't of high quality. Well, that could be any number of things, from the speakers to the production, to the overall aesthetic. When I get the recording, I can make a better judgement. hopefully in a few days).

No, it's the end. "The problem with 'Kingdom Come' is that it subverts much taht is good about the tradition it supposedly continues. The orchestra willingly suppressed virtuosity, spontaneity, and the raw power of its acoustic sound...Why make young people play it? It seems a very ill sign for the future that bad music is so willingly foisted on serious juniors musicians who have already made a commitment to the art form." (emphasis added)

Wow dude...wow. Ok, I get that Kennicott is a critic. And, honestly, I'm also pretty damn scathing. But let's approach it from this fashion. Virtuosity...in orchestral playing? Really? Alright, I'm gonna be honest. As a trombone player, I haven't had an orchestral part I couldn't basically sight read written by anyone pre-20th century. There was once a tricky part of a Schumann symphony where I had to run arpeggios through the circle of fifths. If that wasn't a general exercise I did every day at that point, it may have been difficult. But orchestral music ISN'T about virtuosity. In fact, when a modern composer writes a truly virtuosic work, it's often not played.

Spontaneity, eh? Yes, Brahms is incredibly spontaneous. Well, he might have been 100+ years ago. But we're talking about a fully notated medium. The spontaneity factor of live music comes from the active participation of many people in a live artistic act. If, someone, Ingram Marshall defeated that, then I am truly impressed. If it was defeated, it wasn't because there was fixed media, but because the group hasn't worked in the medium long enough...not to say fixed media doesn't have it's own challenges for spontaneity, but it is, in some form, interactive (albeit passively). To say that since the recording never changes, it destroys the experience is tantamount to saying "I don't listen to recordings because they're always the same." A good fixed media part will have a depth and interest that brings the performers and audience into the work. Now, did Marshall do that? Dunno yet (nonesuch, get on the bandwagon and let me download same day at least...).

Raw power of the acoustic sound: to me that says "no Mahler sized tuttis." In that case Mozart doesn't have much raw power. No, unless the group is truly, 100% subservient, in that their role in the piece is completely secondary, then there is raw power.

Now, there is of course there is the reality that Marshall may have written a bad piece of music. He may have failed and created an overwhelming tape part with sparse background accompaniment. The mix in the hall may have been so far off that the fixed media dominated when it wasn't supposed to. All of these are readily possible.

But let's take a look at that last bit: Is it "bad' music, and why force young people to play it. Well, did he talk to any of the young performers? There are two really interesting videos that are recordings of the youth symphony skyping with Ingram Marshall about the piece. The musicians seemed very engaged in the conversation. And be sure to listen to part 2 as well.

And, maybe, here's the crux--these musicians don't know the tradition of electronic music. I'm guessing Kennicott doesn't either. Listeners are even more in the dark--not only do they have electronics, which is unknown and therefore "evil" AND Pärt like music, and you've got a recipe for a difficult reception. But the question is "why does this matter to the orchestra?"

Because the orchestra is about performing great music. If it is just a museum, then we limit the possibilities of great music, and actually ignore the tradition of working with living composers. We also take for granted that music that isn't "pop," that isn't something that can be completely understood in a single listening (at times), and that if you don't get it, you're not in the club. Maybe we, orchestras and all musicians, should strive to bring more people into the club. And to not get stuck on purely aesthetic issues--Kennicott doesn't like Ingram Marshall's piece. That's perfectly fine. But to turn it into demonizing new music and asking "why should young performers play it?" Because if no one first played Beethoven, we wouldn't play it now. Because if Stravinsky hadn't worked with the Ballet Russe and worked with a crazy, innovative choreographer and put together Firebird, then orchestras wouldn't be putting it on concerts as their "new music."

So, by having more than a 19th century aesthetic, are we showing fear? Are we destroying the orchestra by having outreach programs?

Or is the orchestra falling under the weight of a 19th century aesthetic that doesn't connect with as many people today? And who's fault is that? Obviously I love this music. I didn't get into music as an orchestral guy, but it grew on me. I didn't even play in an orchestra till undergrad (tiny school in rural Indiana--we had a band, mainly a marching band...and definitely no orchestra). But the problem comes from all sides, the contemporary folks and the "olde guarde."

One last anecdote: the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, as they were coming out of huge cuts and terrible press, got Time for Three as their resident chamber group, and scored a nice collaboration with New Amsterdam records. What came out of it were a series of concerts with tons of newer works, some pop music (Time for Three is known for their pop arrangements), and high attendance. That's right, they got results from the programming. Do you know who went?

Friends of mine from HS, people that had played in band, but hadn't played an instrument in 10 years. People that heard the buzz and wondered who Nico Muhly was. People that enjoyed instrumental music because of their experiences at a young age, being drawn into the music. People that, prior to that year, hadn't gone to the orchestra.

Then I look at their latest season. Conservative doesn't even quite cover it. The only "new" work that really takes a leading role is Gorecki's Third Symphony. It's a gigantic, beautiful work, but is 100% aesthetically Romantic.

No, orchestras have tons of problems. But outreach and "bad new music" isn't really the problem. At least not when a 29 year old, young professional musician looks at it...a musician that feels as locked out of the concert hall as he does the bar with his own music and aesthetic.

So, why don't we leave the criticism on the side of the road. When I posted about the conservative season by the ISO, I had lots of people jump down my throat, saying I should be "supportive of our orchestra no matter what." I responded "I AM supportive. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have told them. I want them to succeed, and I think they'll alienate the audiences they drew in the spring!" More yells at me. Who defended me? The musicians. Why?

Because being supportive means offering criticism, but also looking at facts. Until orchestras, and their staunch "olde guarde" defenders really look at the facts of a changing musical landscape, they'll continue to flounder.

And much respect to Philip Kennicott. His article did need written, and it shows a point of view I think many people have. Now let's really start the conversation, without the orchestra league (which, yeah, is kind of impotent), and without the management (cause, well...if you've read my past stuff, you'll know I'm pro musician run and anti-for profit farming that it's become). Let's find real answers and keep an important institution around

UPDATE: Check out my 2nd post on this topic, this one taking on Kennicott's ideas of new music.